


You're No Ghost

by galactiicace



Category: overwatch
Genre: Blindness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mc76 Week, Vision loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactiicace/pseuds/galactiicace
Summary: I’m already 4 days late to the Mc76 week party but hey i’m still here and that’s gotta count for something. Day 5′s Prompt: Touch/Comfort. A lot of this has stemmed from my own personal headcanons that I've developed on my Jack Morrison rp blog on tumblr, as well as interactions with my partner in crime's Jesse blog.Follow me on tumblr! galactiicace.tumblr.com





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m already 4 days late to the Mc76 week party but hey i’m still here and that’s gotta count for something. Day 5′s Prompt: Touch/Comfort. A lot of this has stemmed from my own personal headcanons that I've developed on my Jack Morrison rp blog on tumblr, as well as interactions with my partner in crime's Jesse blog.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! galactiicace.tumblr.com

“You can’t see at all?” Silence draws between them as the question hangs limply in the air. The old soldier is faced away, visor still in place – he can’t bring himself to take it off these days – but he can feel the gunslinger’s eyes on him, can feel whiskey eyes bore holes into the side of his head as he waits for an answer. The soldier gives him none. Jesse’s fingers twitch against the fabric of his pants, and he swallows back a lump in his throat before his gaze rips away, staring out at the city skyline. From the hill they sat atop, it almost felt reminiscent of their days in Zurich beneath the large willow, watching the water crash in a barrage against the side of the cliff. They were quiet back then, too.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Jack?”

“Don’t.” The gruff, distorted voice snaps then, and for a moment, Jesse takes solace in the fact that the former commander can’t see him flinch. He opens his mouth to question further, but Jack beats him to the punch. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name…”

“Jack Morrison is dead.”

Another silence, and Jesse’s fingers curl into his palm, jaw setting. He’s had enough of this, enough of the ridiculous self-pitying way with which the old soldier carries himself, of the fact that he couldn’t let go; they all had their ghosts, and the two shared more than one in common. To know that someone he’d once held respect for was all too willing to spend his days walking around in defeat, to know someone he had loved felt far too comfortable in the passive role of his own life, it makes the gunslinger’s blood boil. Jack Morrison is dead.

Of course he doesn’t see it coming, the metal fist that whips through the air. The blow lands solid, hard enough to knock the old soldier to the ground, and his visor clean off. Silence. Jesse moves to hover over him, shaggy strands of brown falling from his face as he watches the paled blues that search for him hopelessly. He almost takes pity on the old man – in his position, after everything that happened, Jesse doesn’t know if he’d be able to pick himself up daily and carry himself around with his head held high. He certainly didn’t do so after leaving the watch – too many a night spent in a drunken haze, willing himself to forget the life he’d made in the watch, the life that had been forced upon him by none other than the man stricken down beneath him.

“That’s horseshit, Jack.” Jesse’s voice comes out softer than he means for it to; he doesn’t quite choke up, but there’s a hint of sadness etched into his words. “You ain’t dead – hell you’re more alive than most of us-“ Certainly more alive than Reyes, he almost continues, but thinks better of it. It’s a pain he doesn’t want to relive, and he can only guess it’s a topic still too fresh in the mind of the former commander, despite the years that had passed. “You’re alive, you’re here, corporeal, flesh and blood. Stop living like a ghost; you ain’t one.” Even if he wishes he was.

“I couldn’t admit to it.” Jesse’s caught off guard when Jack finally responds, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Pardon?”

“Not being able to see.” There’s a pause, and Jesse moves to sit on his haunches, still straddling Jack’s lap as he listens. There’s an ache in his voice, the pain of sightlessness a constant pain that’s lessened only by the visor – and even then, it only gives him general, blurry shapes to see, nothing more than shadows casted from light sources he can’t see, won’t ever see again.

“The explosion?” a bitter laugh from below, and Jesse wrinkles his nose uneasily.

“You’d think, right?” A sigh, and gloved fingers run through short, greyed strands, a sad smile ghosting across his lips. “The SEP, probably. Used to get blackouts in my vision after injections – been losing my sight for years, actually.” His fingers twitch, and instinctively pat against the pocket of his pants; god he wants a cigarette. He was never good at talking about this without one. “Finally went dark couple years after Zurich. Thought it was just a bad episode, but I think a few days went by and I still couldn’t see. Wasn’t a fun day when I realized.” Too much alcohol and far too many holes in the wall of the place he’d found shelter; he hadn’t taken the news of his total vision loss well at all.

Jesse’s quiet for several moments, swallowing back a knot in his throat. They had all had their theories about it, the days when he seemed spaced out, not entirely seeing things in front of him; more than once it had nearly cost him his life in battle, the blackouts. He doesn’t realize it right away, until he feels the pressure to his cheek, but Jack has reached up, gloved digits tracing lightly along bearded lines of his face, thumb stroking slow across his bottom lip. He hesitates, before his teeth catch the fabric of the glove, and guides it off. He wants to feel the warmth of Jack’s fingers, he doesn’t want anymore barriers between them.

Jack lets the glove fall to the side, fingers returning to inch across every dip, every crack, every scar along Jesse’s face. At one point, he might have had it memorized, the way his face lit up with each smile. He’s never going to see it again. The knot in his throat is back, fingers trembling slightly against his skin, and he moves to cup all of Jesse’s face between his hands, eyes desperately searching for something they can’t see. He’ll never see Jesse again.

“Hey…” Jesse’s voice pulls him back, if only for a moment, and unseeing eyes move to focus on the whiskey irises that watch him. Jesse’s palm finds his cheek, thumb ghosting along the scar that slices its way down his lip, and Jack’s shoulders relax at the contact. He can’t remember the last time he felt hands caress so gentle, the last time he felt something that wasn’t pain from someone he was this close to. “Remember what I said? You’re alive, you’re here. Don’t go getting’ lost in your head, Commander, it’s not good for you.”

You’re alive. You’re here. It’s going to be okay.


End file.
